Jack let out a sharp exhale, spinning the phone on the polished wood. “I’m not looking for a game, man. I’m looking for an answer.”
“You’re late,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. Jack Harlow - PICKYOURPHONEUP (feat. K. Camp)
“Pick your phone up,” he muttered under his breath, a rhythmic mantra that started to sync with the music. Jack let out a sharp exhale, spinning the
Camp caught the beat, nodding. “The dial tone is the loneliest sound in the city, bro. But don’t let it get to you. If she picks up, she’s yours. If she doesn’t? Well, the night’s still young.” “Pick your phone up,” he muttered under his
He’d sent the text twenty minutes ago. “You up?” Simple. Classic. Cruel.
He thought about the last time they’d spoken—the way she’d laughed at his jokes before the fame got loud, before the tours and the guest lists. Now, every silence felt like a statement. He picked up the phone, thumbs hovering over the keypad. He wanted to demand her time, to tell her he was outside, to remind her who was calling.
Jack grinned, his ego tucking itself away for the night. “Nah,” he whispered. “I’m right on time.”